


안녕

by st_mon



Category: SHINee, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Bad English, Gen, Sorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_mon/pseuds/st_mon
Summary: There was silence at the other end of the wire.





	안녕

Namjoon wants someone breakes his fingers, his ribs, his neck, whatever. He wants to hear their crunch as the reason of sharp cracks across the bones. He wants anything rather than to hear the crakling of his own heart which cut his lungs with its sharp bloodstained corners so he can't say a word stucking in the throat and even it hurts to breath.  
Now standing here, rarely putting right a spectacle rim, which moved down the bridge of his nose, and listening to the deaf sobs of Taehyung, he's trying stubbornly to put pieces of monochrome white puzzle without any spots, without any clue that be able to give a tip. To give an answer to the only one question existing in his head.  _Why?_  
  
But every piece in his head lost as soon as he puts it in the right place and see how the dark joints are closing up just like the mourning black is changing to a milk color and crossing borders of the grayness. "Did Jonghyun cross this borders?" Namjoon thinks.  
Did he ever go beyond the bounds of the horizonless blackness?  
  
It seems yesterday he still exhaled a languid, tired "hyung" into the handset and silently waited for an answer, wanting to hear another funny story, always cheering up. Yesterday he didn't think why Jonghyun answer a call in the third time, why his voice was colorless and listless like all his energy had been pumped out, why the answer Namjoon waited a lot was a short "I call you later" instead of long fascinating retelling everyday life.  
Yesterday he didn't think about it and today it doesn't matter at all.  
Today all of it has become petty and crumbled to the dust. The only thing reminds him of yesterday's dense phone beeps at the broken end of the wire is gnawing guilt, that eating his pink lungs like a moth.  
  
Jonghyun got what he wanted. Now the news are filled with his photos; now thousands of people smear tears on the cheeks, remembering and listening to his songs, even if they have never loved him before until trembling; now they are sitting in front of the screens of luminescent glowing monitors in the dark of the room and thought about what they have lost, why they haven't noticed his pain, how many times they have missed it hidden behind the smile or read between the lines og his songs, and now they are learning to analyze the mistakes. Although what is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh. Someone won't never changing.  
Now Namjoon has a hole in his chest with guilt that festering, as a parasite, at the edges, rotten and corrupting the soul.  
That was great, Jonghyun. Mischief managed.  
  
Namjoon will come back home after the funeral and break his fingers.


End file.
